


Tired of You

by xanzpet (gleefulmusings)



Series: Verses [16]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Episode: s06e19 Seeing Red, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-22
Updated: 2013-04-22
Packaged: 2017-12-09 04:13:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/769852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gleefulmusings/pseuds/xanzpet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Buffy appreciates Xander's armor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tired of You

_Where did I go wrong? I can’t look you in the eye._  
 _Feeling so ashamed, it feels like I could die._  
 _Hold me up and don’t let go._  
 _I’ve had enough._  
  
 _Losing everything is something I can’t face._  
 _Hope is on the run; it’s something I can’t fake._  
 _Hold me up and don’t let go._  
 _I’ve had enough._  
  
 _I want to feel a change. I don’t mind if it hurts._  
 _You take away the pain._  
 _You’re the only thing that’s pure._  
  
 _I’m tired of breathing, tired of feeling,_  
 _tired of looking at the past for meaning._  
 _Tired of running, tired of searching._  
 _Tired of trying._  
 _But I’m not tired of you._  
  
  
~ The Exies  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
  
The tile was cold against her bare legs. She watched as bruises blossomed like peonies before just as quickly fading to the sickly yellow which always reminded her of dull wax on a wooden floor.

She heard him before she saw him, unsure as to whether this was because of heightened senses or simply because he always knew when she needed him.

She tightened the belt at her waist, pulling the lapels to close the robe about her chest, trying to make this look like something other than what it was. She watched his eyes widen, his breath still, words trying to form on his lips before falling away. She was grateful for him, grateful for whatever had brought him to her this night.  
  
The shame swelled within her and threatened to erupt, despite knowing that no matter what she had said or done, she hadn’t deserved this, but logic was cold comfort in the face of such raw exposure.

She should have told them, she now realized, rather than placing her head and her burden in Tara’s lap before walking away. It was then she recognized that the shame was not the result of Spike’s action, but rather her own inaction, and while she had been victimized, she was no one’s victim. She had secured herself to the wrong anchor, had played a dangerous game, and the consequences were ones she would unpack and deal with later.  
  
She looked up into his eyes and saw the rage, the fear, the helplessness; these were expected.

But eclipsing them was his love, always his love, for her.

He made to move but stopped; what she needed when she needed it.

Tears came unbidden. She had had friends, lovers, knew that she had loved and been loved in return.

But no one had loved her the way _this_ man loved her, with neither provocation nor restraint, a love so powerful he had brought her back from death not once, but twice.

These past months in which everything was fuzzy and she felt as if she had been breathing through wet cotton, the startling revelation of the full force of _her_ love for _him_ was enough to unseat her.

His stalwart support, his unyielding devotion, his belief in her mission, which he had unselfishly made his own: it awed her.

He _awed_ her.  
  
He made her better, stronger, more human.   
  
He _was_ her White Knight.


End file.
